


Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

by writer314



Category: Captain America, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluffy Ending, Mild Angst, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 12:51:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17345561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writer314/pseuds/writer314
Summary: Bucky volunteered to stay at the compound for Christmas, but he's feeling less than jolly.





	Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rareandviolentsnowflake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rareandviolentsnowflake/gifts).



> For rareandviolentsnowflake, who prompted:  
> '"why are you holding balls?  
> "they're called baubles."  
> "they look like balls."',  
> 'Bucky stays at the compound for Christmas; Tasha visits.'  
> and  
> 'Cold Russian winter; BuckyNat finds a way to stay warm.'
> 
> Clearly the last two are mutually exclusive, but I hope I did them justice!

Fluffy wet snowflakes twirled down from a leaden sky, perfect for Christmas Eve. Bucky sighed deeply then shook his head, trying to shake the gloom that had suddenly come over him. Steve had left that morning for his fiancee's family's home for the holiday (and wasn't _that_ something?). Sam had left the day before to spend the holiday at his mom's. Clint had been gone for a week with his family. Tony was on some private island with Pepper and their six-month old baby. Banner and Strange were off in some third world country, helping rebuild after some natural disaster or another. Wanda and Vision had been in Wakanda for months, as Vision continued to recover from the loss of the mind stone. Scott had declared himself the West Coast division of the Avengers, and no one faulted him for it given his family situation. Since the defeat of Thanos and the restoration of half the universe, Thor had been searching for the remnants of his people across the universe. The New Asgard colony on the newly terriformed (Asgardiformed?) Mars wasn't quite thriving, but it would eventually. Peter was in the Bronx where he belonged. T'Challa didn't celebrate Christmas and even if he did, he was kind of busy with the whole king-of-a-sovereign-nation thing. Carol and the Guardians had returned to space.

Bucky reminded himself that he had volunteered to hold down the fort. That the quiet time with Natasha he thought he would have wasn't going to materialize because her mission was taking longer than planned (through no fault of hers) was no reason not to appreciate the simple fact that he was alive and well in the twenty-first century. He sighed again. Maybe he'd skype Becca's great-grands later in the day. The great-great-grands were young enough that having Uncle Bucky be the Winter Soldier was still super cool. Plus, he wanted to know whether they'd liked the presents he'd sent – he was sure they'd have peeked. In the meantime, he decided to go into the forest and chop down a tree. Maybe the scent of pine and the sight of little lights reflecting in glass ornaments would lift his mood.

Bucky tramped into the forest with an ax on his shoulder, snow still falling gently, adding to the several inches that had covered the ground for a week. In a fit of _something_ , Bucky had donned a bright red knit hat with a big white pompom on top before venturing out. He marched directly to the tree he'd had his eye on since September. It was just the right height for his apartment in the compound, and it was the perfect shape for a Christmas tree. It was the tree he had dreamed of as a child in the Great Depression. All the more so because this tree would have gifts beneath it, and the stockings hanging on his mantle wouldn't be more holes than sock.

Bucky's ax thunked methodically into the tree's trunk until it finally gave way under the onslaught. He slung the ax across his back with the strap tied to the handle and hefted the tree onto his shoulder for the short hike back to the compound. He felt a bit better. Maybe the endorphins from the exercise? He decided not to look the gift horse in the mouth. As he left the shelter of the forest, he realized that the earlier flurries had turned into a real Christmas snowstorm. He found himself smiling at the thought.

Ensconced in his living room, the tree fixed in its stand and watered, the stockings hung in front of a gently crackling fire, Bucky put on his Christmas playlist. It was a relief to know that he wouldn't be pulled from his burgeoning Christmas spirit by a grandma getting run over by a reindeer or nuclear devastation or even some materialistic dame begging Santa for Tiffany's. His playlist was a mix of traditional Christmas carols sung by traditional choirs like the Tabernacle Choir, the Tanglewood Chorus, and a variety of Welsh male voice choirs. He liked the future, but not everything was an improvement. He stopped that train of thought before it moved to what people considered dancing these days.

That reminded him that he wanted to skype the family, so he turned on his tablet and called up the skype app.

"Uncle Bucky! Merry Christmas! Katie, tell the kids Uncle Bucky's skyping, would you?"

"Merry Christmas, George! How are you holding up?"

George laughed, "I'm okay! Not a lot of assembly required this year."

"So you save that for the years I'm around then, eh?"

"Well, of course! What good is it to have a super soldier uncle who hangs out in Tony Stark's workshop if you don't put him to work assembling children's toys whenever possible? How're the rest?"

"They're good," Bucky gave him the rundown on everyone's plans, and they shared their mutual surprise that Steve had managed to talk to an interesting woman enough to get himself engaged.

Just before George could ask about Bucky's own plans, the kids popped into the frame and their childish delight in the holiday and their anticipation of what Santa might bring immediately put a giant grin on Bucky's face. Bucky was a little disappointed to discover none of them had peeked in the packages under the tree, but they reminded him of the omnipresent eye of that creepy Elf on the Shelf, so he understood. They were very excited to know what he thought of their gifts, but he had not peeked either, because he was a mature adult. (Ok, he was sure he was going to be somewhat morose on Christmas Day and wanted to have something to look forward to.) He promised to go visit the family over the kids' February vacation from school for snowman-building and other winter fun. By the time the call ended, he was feeling much lighter.

Bucky turned on the lights he had strung on the tree, making sure that they were reasonably well distributed. Then, he opened a box of old fashioned ornaments and began adding them to the tree. Between the music and the scent of the pine and the memories of Christmases past, he didn't hear the door open and close.

"Why are you holding balls?" a sultry voice called from the entrance to the living room.

Bucky turned, nonchalant despite his surprise, "They're called baubles." He gestured with the ornament in his hand, gold with a painted ballerina on it. It was one of his favorites because the ballerina was a red head like Natasha. Possibly because Steve was the one who had painted it.

Natasha pushed off the doorjamb and took the ornament from him. "Well, they look like balls," she commented wryly, adding the glass ball to the tree.

Bucky smiled at her. "Yeah, but they're called baubles. Makes 'em special. You hungry? I made a batch of Ma's stew earlier."

She shook her head. "I ate during the flight. But maybe later? I do enjoy your Ma's stew." She reached up and played with the shorter hair at the nape of his neck. "I need a shower more than anything else right now."

"I have one of those. You wanna use it?" Bucky's hands gently tugged her closer to him until he could nuzzle her hair.

"I don't know," she mused, "do you want to join me?"

"It is a big shower. It'd be a shame if you got lost or lonely in there."

"That _would_ be a shame." Natasha took his hand and led him toward the master bath.

There was no urgency to their movements. Bucky hadn't had any fear for Natasha while she was on her mission – it had been a milkrun really. But the closeness he had missed. He took his time softly washing her hair before slowly worshipping her body with soap bubbles and water. Finally, he met her mouth with his and began worshipping her body with his.

Natasha sighed contentedly as Bucky petted and stroked her skin. Her mission and the long flight had left her tired, so she allowed Bucky's ministrations without returning them in kind as she normally would have done. She knew he would understand; he had been in the same place himself any number of times. She gasped softly as his fingers gently invaded her body, his thumb circling her clit.

Bucky felt her inner muscles flutter quietly around his fingers and slipped from her, happy to have brought her pleasure.

Natasha snuggled bonelessly into Bucky's warmth, "More?"

"You sure, babydoll? 'Cause I'm ok as we are."

"Please, Bucky."

"I've gotcha, Nat. Just let me…" He tenderly lifted one of her legs, giving him access to her core. He took himself in hand and guided himself into her. He thrust into her gently, taking his time and drawing out their pleasure. Her second orgasm elicited a small gasp from her, and Bucky moaned as her muscles pulled his orgasm from him.

They slowly recovered, and Bucky directed Friday to turn off the water, douse the fire in the fireplace, and turn off the Christmas music. He effortlessly lifted Natasha from the shower and smoothed a fluffy towel over her body. She leaned against the vanity as he dried himself off as well. They slid into bed, Natasha's head pillowed on Bucky's flesh shoulder.

"Welcome home, Nat."

"Merry Christmas, Bucky."

**Author's Note:**

> Songs Bucky does not enjoy:  
> "Grandma Got Runover by a Reindeer" by Elmo and Patsy  
> "Christmas at Ground Zero" by Weird Al Yankovic  
> "Santa Baby" by any number of people
> 
> He is wrong about the first two; the third depends entirely on the singer.


End file.
